


Method acting

by drunkfranz



Series: We Have No Control [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: And all that jazz, Character Study, Dubious Consent, Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Linear Narrative, Proceed with caution, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, corruption of minors, im horrible sorry, sick shit ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkfranz/pseuds/drunkfranz
Summary: Drink to forget, and if that isn’t enough, keep doing it until you go numb.Tonight, Rick isn't numb.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, hey. this is not so much a continuation but a part of the same "universe" that from now on shall be referred to as the WHNC series. the patent is on the way, so wait for it.

**Method acting**

Everyone’s at the table, having breakfast.

The symmetry of the arrangement satisfies Beth in a way she knows is unhealthy, but her family is unhealthy by definition, she thinks as she overlooks everyone from one end of the table, over a cup of coffee that she wishes were more than just coffee.

Morty to her right, Summer to her left, and Jerry right across her.

She can do without the wine today, Beth decides. Morty looks at her and asks her to pass the salt, please. Yes, no wine for today. Nor for tomorrow, nor for the day aft—wait, that’s Wednesday, and Jerry comes home earlier on Wednesdays, so she’s definitely not quitting wine that day.

Well, two full days with no alcohol will certainly be a milestone. She believes she can do it. It’s not like she is _morbidly_ alcoholic, but on bad days she can finish half a bottle on her own, and Beth doesn’t really wanna find out just how much she takes after her f—

There’s a knock on the door.

Morty looks up again, and this time he doesn’t ask for a napkin. Instead, he draws out a gun and says sorry before shooting.

Beth wishes she’d been drinking wine after all.

*

*

*

Rick wasn’t going to admit it, not at least out loud, but he knew he’d fucked up.

He’d fucked up re _eee_ al bad this time.

“W-what do you—w-what the fuck do you mean y-y-you just went and-and lost it, MoUGHrty?”

“I didn’t just—just go and—I didn’t say that, Rick! I told yo—”

“I don’t care what _you_ told me, Morty. That’s whaUGHt happened: you just went and lost _my_ portal gun like the little shitty dumbass you are.”

His eyes—Morty’s eyes started to water. Oh, not a _fuckin_ gain. Rick rubbed his temples. Great, the kid was crying now. Rick closed his eyes, trying to remember why he even put up with this shit.

Oh, right. He’d just banged the kid the previous night.

Oh, _right_.

Rick opened his eyes. At least Morty was still there. He snorted, of course Morty was still there, scrunched-out face and everything. Even if he didn’t want to, there was nowhere else the kid could go to. Like, literally nowhere else. Rick sighed more deeply than he’d thought he needed to and stretched out his hand, reaching for the boy’s hair and ruffling it.

“Ohh, c’om on, Morty, stop bein—stop that, j-just--don’t cry, okay, Morty?”

But Morty kept on crying. He kept on whimpering like a kicked puppy, fat tears strolling his cheeks. Cheeks that looked a bit hollowed out. When did that happen? Rick hadn’t noticed. It must certainly had happened recently. As recently as yesterday, Rick realized with a short tremor.

He had to change tactics.

“Morty,” he lowered his hand, settling it over Morty’s nape. “Morty, listen—l-look at me, Morty, look at me,” his fingers tightened a little around the boy’s neck, but Morty refused to look up.

“I—I’m sorry, Rick,” Morty started to babble, his high-pitched voice getting caught up in his throat. “I’m sorry,” his hands were fisted so tightly they actually looked smaller. “I-I d-didn’t mean to lose your portal gun, Rick, I swear, but he looked exactly like y—”

His patience was running out, not that he had a lot to begin with, but Mortys were always a special case for him, weren’t they.

“Just—just let me—just, oh _shut up_ already, will ya?” But Morty didn’t stop. It seemed like he was really losing it this time. He might lose it, too, Rick thought, if Morty didn’t quit being such a little pansy soon.

“I-I-I know I’m stupid, Rick, you know I’m stupid, _you all_ know I’m stupid, what did you want me to do, y-y-you kn—you know no—nobody can outsmart you, how was I sup-supposed t-to-”

“ _Shut up_ , Morty.” His hand was long gone from Morty’s neck. It’d slid over to one of Morty’s shoulders (the kid was definitely thinning, and it hadn’t started yesterday, Rick thought with yet another short tremor), his wiry fingers tightening unconsciously around it, thumb digging in on a protruding collar bone.

Morty finally went quiet. He’d noticed the change in Rick’s voice, however slight it was, and when he dared to look up, he was met with two cold eyes, the kind of cold they got when Rick was angry.

Rick was angry.

Rick was worried.

*

*

*

Popping Morty’s cherry hadn’t been part of Rick’s plans for the night.

It just… sort of happened.

Getting drunk, now _that_ was his plan. Getting rickety-wrecked old Rick style, that’s what he was striving for. Nothing fancy, just ol’ Rick regular stuff. He’d been happily drunk-piloting his spaceship, blissfully lost in his thoughts which, with a little help of booze and tons of k-lax, had gotten more bearable, when something hit him. _Literally_ hit him. A deafening, jarring noise immediately followed by a cloud of smoke and suddenly he had a fucking hole in one of the engines. Great. Apparently the universe _did have_ an endless source of even more infinitely stupid fucking idiots who thought they stood a chance against him—Rick let out deep breath that grew very steadily into a growling hiss. Didn’t they know, whoever the fuck they were (Rick didn’t care to turn and see), just who he was?

Rick rolled his eyes. Now he had to kill them, and Morty wasn’t even there to keep him entertained. This wasn’t an adventure. It was a fucking nuisance.

Once he was done with long-distance murdering everyone in the other ship, Rick resumed his drunken state and flew back to Earth, perhaps more intoxicated on anger and desire than on liquor.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t go directly to his own room once he park-crashed the spaceship in the garage. Maybe that’s why he decided to go upstairs, instead. Maybe his plans for the night _had_ changed a little after all. Maybe he just wanted to spend some quality time with his favorite grandson.

The door was closed but not locked. As always. Morty knew there was no point in even having a fucking doorknob. The only person who had the interest to go in couldn’t be stopped by a simple human lock, and neither his mom nor dad nor sister cared that much to do anything else than knocking on his door to tell him something like dinner’s ready or whatever.

Therefore, Morty wasn’t very surprised when he heard the knob being turned in the middle of the night. He wasn’t even surprised about the time. If anything, it was even normal Rick hours. Well, not _normal_ , maybe _drunk_ -Rick time was more precise. Much less surprising was it for Morty when the thick, sweet smell reached him. Yep, just ol’ regular drunk Rick.

Morty could do without the drunk part, but he was well past the wishing phase. He knew some things with Rick would just never change. Nah, cross that out. He knew _nothing_ with Rick would ever change. That was both what kept Morty hopeful and utterly distressed.

And so Rick sneaking into his room late at night after a day or two of heavy, blackout-inducing drinking wasn’t what startled Morty.

It was the blabbering. It was the crap he was mumbling. It was the heavy dragging of his feet across the carpet. It was the sound of things dully falling onto the rug. Not just _any_ things: clothes. Shoes. It was the sudden-

“H-hey, Morty, hey there little pal, how-how you doing, Morty, how’s been school, ‘member last time we were in my-- in my—hey, MortURG-” Rick couldn’t even finish the name, his belching harder and harder to delay.

-way Rick clenched one hand on Morty’s bedsheets and the other on his arm. He took the ones out of the way and, with a quick turn of mind, pushed instead of pulling the other to make way on the bed.

“H-h-hey, Ri—g-grandpa Rick, wha-what’s up?”

Rick squinted his eyes. Morty held his breath. He’d noticed Morty was on the defensive.

Morty was scared.

Rick wasn’t that drunk, not even that high, because his memory was intact. Morty knew so because Rick was actually talking about something. Drink to forget, and if that isn’t enough, keep drinking until you go numb. Rick wasn’t numb, the edginess to his sly movements implied something else. There was an unmistakable purpose to each and every step he had taken to get here, to Morty’s bedroom.

His memory was intact and so very painfully clear. And yet, it hadn’t been enough to stop him nonetheless. The sight of his daughter silhouetted in the doorframe had simply delayed the inevitable. Rick wasn’t going to be stopped by such nuisance. And he knew Morty wouldn’t be, either. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be his grandson just as Beth wouldn’t be his daughter if she had confronted him about it, about anything, really.

Therefore, Morty breathed out again. Then one long inhale and he lay down again, turning his back to the wall so he could face Rick, who was already in bed, fully shameless about his intentions, covering them both with the flimsy sheets then, thinking better of it, simply tossing them to the floor, where the crumpled pieces of fabric lay next to Rick’s shoes.

“Maybe we won’t be interrupted this time, eh, Morty?”

*

*

*

Some time ago (Morty didn’t care to remember just how long)—, some time ago, life had started feeling a bit weird. Not weird as in the sci-fi-high-on-Adderall-shit type (that was _after_ ), but just weird as in… boring.

Days started to feel too long, just dragging on and on and on and yet, time didn’t seem to pass at all. Every morning was the same, just like every evening and every night, and it all amounted to nothing. Morty used to feel like everyone in that house was stuck in time, doomed to re-live the same boring day for the rest of eternity. The four of them, sitting at the table, eating and talking and drinking and breathing and blinking and never dying. That was what shit-scared Morty the most: it felt like it’d never end. They’d just move on to the living room and resume the process, and when tv was over, they’d then just proceed to their rooms each (what happened outside the house was always irrelevant, almost as if ‘outside’ didn’t exist, as if ‘outside’ consisted only of eerily specific and repetitive settings, full of props that never aged) and then the day would be over. Just like that. Another day gone, an infinity more still to go.

And that’d been when Morty figured it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the viscous portal evaporated out of existence before his eyes, Morty heard someone screaming. It took him a while to realize it was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update! it's a new year's eve miracle!  
> please enjoy the ride.

Rick fell asleep almost as soon as he spoke the words.

Morty was relieved. Rick was just drunk, so drunk he’d literally just made it to his room before passing out. Phew, that had been close.

Morty tried to sleep too, but it was no good. Rick shifted in his sleep, and Morty caught his breath, but released it as soon as he noticed that Rick was still asleep, his arms disappearing from his body as he turned on his other side so that Morty was left facing his back.  False alarm. Morty turned too, facing the wall once again. He felt hot, clammy with the heavy presence of someone else sleeping in his small bed. He thought of getting up and maybe crash on the couch downstairs, but if Rick woke up and saw he wasn’t there, he might get noisy. Also, he didn’t want to risk waking him up. Rick was a light sleeper when he wanted to and being drunk was like second nature to him already, so it didn’t make a difference whatsoever.

So Morty just lied there. And right when he was dozing off, the edginess finally relenting from his stiff nerves, he felt something pricking him in the shoulder. He tried to scream, out of pain or fear he didn’t know, but no sound came out.

“I’m sorry, Morty, but I really need your Rick’s portal gun.” 

Morty’s vision got blurry before he could even process the words, and as understanding hit him, he faded into unconsciousness.

*

*

*

Rick didn’t remember the first time he killed someone.

It’s not that he couldn’t, he just didn’t care to. His memory was what humans termed “photographic,” though Rick preferred the non-planetary term “completely at his service.” His brain was just another machine he’d re-invented and perfected, after all, so if he wanted to remember something, he’d just have it do it.

Keeping a number on all the deaths he’d provoked or inflicted was just too much wasted storage. Even worse, there wasn’t a practical purpose to it. Why would he need such data? Numbers are relative and after a few dozen millions they just stop making sense

Three thousand or three trillion, the difference lay simply in the zeros, and Rick didn’t care about zeros. He cared about...

What did he care about, again? Oh, right, nothing. Now, that’s something Morty could learn from him. Not caring.

 “I-I—I just can’t go on, Rick, I mean, h-how could I ever look at them again, Rick? I j-just—I just—”

“Killed them? So what.”

“Rick!”

“Look, Morty, I get the feeling we’ve had this conversation before, so don’t make me repeat myself”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“Get over it is what I mean, Morty! You just killed your whole family? Again? Cool, quit bitching about it”

“Oh my God, Rick, you’re a monster!”

Morty, on the other hand, had killed so many times by now that saying this one was a first needed a lot of clarifications to count as such. Namely, 1) this was entirely necessary, 2) Rick didn’t convince nor dissuade him, 3) he was fighting for his life and (Morty tried to gulp past the next one), 4) he had enjoyed it. Maybe that was why he felt so remorseful. Yes, he had killed plenty of… living things just to save his and Rick’s lives. But this one took the cake. Royally so. Rick said ‘again’ but Morty couldn’t remember the first one for reasons he didn’t want to think about right now. As far as he knew, it was his first time killing his entire fucking family.

His eyes were tearing up again. This time, however, it was for Rick. Morty was starting to feel like Rick was no longer part of his family. He was something else now. Something much worse.

*

*

*

Rick put Morty on the floor, left him sprawled there for a few minutes while he was rummaging through the garage. The place looked suspiciously normal. As Rick was trying to find the way to open the real garage, he saw Morty twitching from the corner of his eye.

“Rick? Oh god,” Morty was finally waking up. Rick only had a few minutes before the effects of the dopanyl wore off, so he wasted none. “I had the strangest dream, well, it was more like a nightm---”

“Morty, help me! You have to help me, I can’t find it!”

“Find what, Rick?” Morty clenched his eyes. “Oh jeez, my head is real—”

“My portal gun, Morty! Where’s it? I—We need it!”

“Not so loud, Rick, ohhh, I think you left it in the ship,” but looking around, he couldn’t find the ship. Where was he, again?

Morty was looking around him, confused. Shit, it was already wearing off. Rick grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking him, screaming into his face.

“No, Morty, it’s not there! Think, think _goddamnit_! Where is it?”

“Oh, god, it must be in the drawer under the flies, oooh, please stop that.”

Rick did. He ran to the drawer, took the gun out and shot a portal on the ground.

“Where are we go—” The question died in Morty’s lips. Rick, that Rick, _not his Rick_ , had jumped in. With the portal gun.

As the viscous portal evaporated out of existence before his eyes, Morty heard someone screaming. It took him a while to realize it was him.  

*

*

*

Three hours after they had managed to escape the family evil doppelgangers (though ‘evil’ was just a word he’d used to calm Morty), Morty was still disconsolate. He wasn’t crying the whole time, but it was painfully clear how much effort he put on not bursting into tears every five goddamn seconds. It was starting to get on Rick’s nerves.

Rick decided to park the ship somewhere in what seemed like the woods, though it turned out to be another intradiegetic room with said woods as a backwall-scenery that also marked the limits of the room. _That’s why I never saw anyone outside the house or school_ , Morty thought to himself. He bit harder on his tongue, for the tears threatened more and more.

Rick got out of the ship, with Morty right behind him, following him like a lost puppy.

“Look, Morty. I gotta check someth—some things, so why don’t you try and be—beha—get comfortable in the ship while I go and—”

“What, no, Rick,” Morty’s shrilling complaint interrupted him. “´Please, Rick, don’t leave me alone here. Not again, pleas—”

“I’m not going to be out for long, Jesus, Morty!” Rick grabbed his nose, shamelessly obvious about his irritation. “Just calm down, Morty. I´m doing you a favor, here, if you haven’t noticed”

“A favor?! You’re planning to leave me here while you go and- and—”

“While I go and what?” Rick’s voice was getting louder. “And get my fucking portal gun back? The one you lost? Say it, little piece of shit!”

“And then you’re bailing on me, aren’t you?!” Morty’s eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t even reproachful. In them, Rick only saw need. A deep, deep need to be loved and protected. Rick just didn’t understand that. Or that’s what he thought.

“What? Is that what you were gonna say--? Wait, no, no, no, don’t start crying again”

But it was too late. Morty felt embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was worn down to the core, so tired and sad. The adrenaline-induced euphoria from hours ago was starting to fade, leaving nothing but guilt and shame in its aftermath. The memories of the last hundred days or so, however false and illusory they might’ve been, were still intact in him. The utter dread and exhaustion were still bearing on him. He felt so, so tired. And crying only made it worse. 

“Oh my god, Morty, is that why you’ve been crying so much?” Rick decided to try another way, he was running out of tactics to ease off his grandson. “You really thought I was gonna ditch you?” Morty’s whimpering was the only answer he got.

Rick really needed to change tactics now.

*

*

*

Ever since Rick showed up in my life, I’ve come to know a lot of things. Though there are some things he didn’t teach me.

That loneliness is sad is one of them.

I also know I’ve always been pathetic. And I didn’t use to care, I kinda even thrived on it. Rick always says I inherited that from dad: inspire pity and people might give you a chance. It still hurts every time he says it, but I guess that’s just my nature. Or it used to be. I know for a fact that I’ve also grown a backbone. When Rick is in a good mood, he even says that, too.

But before all of that, I was growing dubious. Being alone all the time would also get tiring, especially on the occasions it really seemed to matter. Cold at night, alone. Bored at lunch, alone. Waiting after school, alone.

Home, alone.

That’s why I let Rick do everything he has done to me. ‘Cause he’s real. And very eager.

With him, I’m no longer alone. Rick is ineludible, a word he taught me. If there ever was a god, I now know it’s him. It’s always been him.

These thoughts are weird, I think as I start dozing off. I’m not comfortable, but I am very tired. I cannot even keep my eyes open, been resting them for hours. Or just a very long time, which is weird, too. My mind feels hazy, viscous. Why can’t I fall asleep? This is not sleeping, this is more like… dying. Though dying is relative, that’s what Rick says. Just a bunch of circuits going off.

I couldn’t possibly be dying, not like this.

Like what? My thoughts get blurry, too abstract to catch, so I let go of them until they disappear altogether, leaving only a vague fear in me.

Silence. Utter silence. I must finally be sleeping. I feel like I am travelling through space. No, not travelling, but falling. Like sleep is a place, and my body needs to go there. So it just keeps falling, falling until a warm, fluffy bed receives my weightless body. I can’t feel my body, and I like it. I can’t feel pain if I don’t have a body. How funny, to discover that all my problems come from having a body.   

The sound of Rick opening the door wakes me up.

I wonder how I can know such things, like where I am or who he is, being this dark.

“Grandpa Rick?” But I know the answer. I know it’s him like I know my name because it has been ingrained deep in me. Rick took care of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, franz here pals  
> i started writing this series with one purpose in mind and one only: porn.  
> i wanted to write some r&m (sad) smut but things got SO complicated i ended up having to write ALL THIS just to get the setting right. but don't fret, i have the porn almost finished, and it's next.  
> so, let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally get darker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is nothing but porn, enjoy

**“…a tall man, so slender that sideways he might melt into the shadows that had already taken his soul. His gaze, when he brought it to bear upon a man, would show that man the dissolution of his own morals, so dead were they and carious.”**

**From _City of Saints and Madmen_ , by Jeff Vandermeer.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

I can hear him speak, but that’s as far as my senses go. I try opening my eyes, then remember they’re sealed. By what, _you don’t even want to know_. A new sound joins in: it’s my breathing. At least I know I’m not dead, _yet_. I am like a machine, loading. _Still loading_. One by one, sensations are coming to me. Pain becomes present, it starts as a pounding in my head, right behind my eyes, and from there it invades me from the top down, until even my toes hurt. Next comes the heat. I feel so hot I wonder if I’m in hell, but _you’ve seen hell and know for a fact it’s not hot._ No, hell is the opposite. _Yes_. Hell is cold, like Rick’s eyes when he’s angry. _Yes_. Hell is absence, like Rick when he’s gone. Hell is a person, like Rick when he feels like destroying something. _I do, now._

The next sound comes from me too: I am in so much pain _you’re whimpering_. I am--

“Hey, Morty, yo _ugh_ okay?”

Awake. Everything has returned, including my body.

“Morty !”

I can finally open my eyes, and the first thing I see is Rick’s face, looking at me dead-serious.

My first reaction is… _kiss him_.

My mouth is dry, my lips numb. Yet Rick’s is so warm and wet it overwhelms me. Then comes the thick smell of liquor, so strong it shatters my nerves, effacing the pain momentarily. Rick tries to draw back, but knowing relief would go his way, I stop him. _Do it!_ My arm is still heavy, but I manage to put it around his neck.

“Jesus, Morty, are you okay?”

“Why?” is all I manage.

“You were groaning and sweating all over and—”

For once, I am the one who interrupts him by kissing him again. _More_.

Pain ebbs away and then comes again as Rick withdraws once more. That’s what he always does, isn’t it? He brings in the pain, and then gives me the cure like he’s trying to convince me he’s the solution to everything. _I am_. Like he’s innocent. _I am_.

What I am doing I dare not wonder. _Keep doing it_ , until Rick can no longer stop himself. _I can’t_.

When his tongue finally responds, I know he won’t stop. I have switched off something in him, the last of his reservations, if he ever had them. _Yes, I did_ , that’s why this hadn’t happened before. But _you want it to happen now_. Maybe this was his plan all along, because I don’t feel like myself. _But you are._

No, I am not myself now, because I feel wanted. _You are_.

Rick starts kissing me more eagerly, his hands grabbing my shoulders like I’m the one who’s trying to go away. _You won’t_. So I stay here, the way he always wanted me to. I just hope he does the same.

“Rick…” Morty breathes the name through his lips, through their kiss.

“Yes, baby boy?” Rick’s eyes are glassy with desire in a way Morty had never seen before. And, for a moment, a huge tenderness flickers on those eyes. But it is gone in a blink.

“What have you done to me?” Morty asks like he doesn’t know. Yet, he knows what Rick wants. He’s just realized.

“More like what I’m going to do to you” Rick smiles into his face, his hands going to the hem of Morty’s shirt, taking it off. It’s a smile he’d never seen on Rick, and Morty shudders at the image. This is what Rick looks like _before_ sex, and the knot in his stomach may very well be both the dread and anticipation of what’s about to come.

Morty ventures his hand to the bulge in Rick’s pants and the knot tightens with dread as he feels his hard cock. Rick locks his eyes on Morty, and leers,

“Wanna see it?” Morty nods, so entranced he goes blank.

Suddenly, Rick’s hands are all over him, tracing wiry ways that wound up from his nipples to his sides, turning jarringly into his back, all the way down to his asscheeks.  Morty tries undoing Rick’s zipper, unsure of what to do besides moaning, but Rick quickly puts his hand away, almost smacking it with a jerky motion.

“Not yet, baby boy, don’t be so eager” he mutters low and fast and yet intensely into Morty’s ear, proceeding to strip him of his pants and everything else, until Morty’s left completely naked. Rick was right, he was sweating so much the cold air chills him to the bone, his clammy skin exposed. Rick tongues at his cheeks, his jawline, his throat, wetting him with slick hot saliva. 

Morty keeps shivering.

*

*

*

They end up back in the ship, Morty sprawled on Rick’s lap, his sobbing progressively subsiding until he falls asleep. Rick’s leg is going numb, and he has to pee.

He keeps rubbing Morty’s hair softly anyway, contented with the silence.

His cock is still kinda hard, though. He tries to brush it away, but Morty is way too flush against his body, and the boner is turning into a problem he’s not sure he wants to ignore any longer.

Then Morty wakes and shifts and in trying to look up, he puts his hand right on the bulge of Rick’s pants. He freezes, unsure of whether he’s done something wrong. Then he looks up into Rick’s eyes, which are closer than Morty had expected. Rick’s gaze is unwavering.

Rick won’t ignore it any longer.

When Morty finally thinks of removing his hand, Rick stops him.

“Leave it there,” is all he says. Fear flickers on Morty’s eyes. “Do you want to make it go away?” He asks the question in an attempt to soothe him, but his voice comes out low and raspy, and Morty can only nod, like he’s trying not to make him angry. Rick doesn’t think much of reassuring him that he isn’t angry.

Maybe he is.

*

*

*

Morty is practically sitting on Rick’s lap, and when Rick finally gets done with tongue-exploring each and every inch of Morty’s body, he draws back and looks at him, hands now settling over his shoulders, saying,

“Ready for it, baby?”

Morty’s not sure of what to say, feeling like he missed the cue in a play for which he never rehearsed. But Rick doesn’t seem too bothered by his lack of words, taking the way his body was reacting as the only response he needed. So he just kisses him once again. Morty is starting to like that, kissing. It’s easy to do, and it feels way too good. But Rick doesn’t dwell there for too long though, being more focused on finally freeing his own dick. Morty starts to get decidedly anxious, he’s never seen a dick other than his own in real life and he feels that porn could never have prepared him for this, whatever it is.

_This_ which he does not want to name.

*

*

*

It isn’t entirely Morty’s fault, this new bad mood Rick’s been finding himself in lately. If even, the kid had nothing to do with Rick’s increasing inability to compose himself. To control his devilish urges.

Devilish? Rick suppresses a snort. Since when was devilish a word in his lexicon? What was devilish about his desires anyway? It’s not like he was trying to destroy Earth and then fuck the corpses and piss on their communal graves.

He just wanted to fuck his minor grandson, it wasn’t so bad compared with everything else he’d done. Seriously, who could blame him?

Rick knows the answers all too well, and he goes for his flask in a knee-jerk reaction to such unwanted thoughts. He takes one deep greedy gulp from the acidic liquor, composure finally gone, resolve finally present.

Morty is still looking at him, with his wide puppy-eyes, expectant on being told what to do. That’s what’s so endearing about him, Rick thinks, that no matter how much shit he puts him through, no matter how fast he’s growing up and how much he’s deviating from the curse of becoming like his father, Morty still holds some sort of puerile innocence. Some unchangeable need to be guided and goaded. Morty hides a great strength within him, Rick knows this for a fact, but he also knows that said strength is a gun whose trigger Rick still holds tightly in his hand, and he has no intention yet of handing the gun to Morty.

He’s not ready for it. Soon he’ll be, but not today.

*

*

*

Nothing could’ve prepared him for this moment, Morty decides. Seeing Rick’s hard cock is simultaneously horrific and mouth-watering. He’s not sure this is what he’s supposed to feel, but he’s gotten so used to being utterly confused with Rick that he ignores the throbbing thought.

Rick’s cock is huge. Not huge as in the ones he’s seen in the “monster cock” and “big black cock” tags he’s shamefully visited. But it’s huge all the same, especially considering that it was going to be up his ass anytime soon. ‘Cause what else would Rick do in this situation? Morty had finally come to terms with his own attraction towards Rick, and he knew that it stemmed from how painfully obvious it was that Rick too had the hots for him. Maybe this was why he was shocked to the point of paralysis. He felt like he was separating from his body, which was at once betraying him and staying loyal to him. He knew he wanted Rick, he just wasn’t so sure he wanted it this way. But there was no stopping Rick.

He just knew it. In cases like these, Morty had realized it was simply better to side with him rather than fight him. Whether it was killing a bunch of aliens he’d come to appreciate, or having sex with him, it didn’t make so much of a difference to Morty anymore. After the first violation to his moral codes, Morty thought there couldn’t be anything much worse to a more physical...

“What’s up, baby, a mouse ate your tongue?” Rick’s slurry voice came down on his thoughts like a heavy curtain, effectively blocking them from the forefront in Morty’s reticence.

“Jeeee, Rick, I… I’m just a little as— _ahhh_ ” But he’s cut short by Rick grabbing Morty’s dick, apparently not very interested in what Morty has to say.

Morty has no time to get offended, suddenly drowning in blind, hot-white pleasure as Rick skillfully works him up. The sounds that come from his mouth make Morty flush. He never thought he’d be capable of such moaning, thinking it was always so exaggerated by the redheads he’d seen in porn. In a few moments, however, even the redheads disappear from his mind, along with everything else.

The alternation of his dick being strongly pumped then tenderly caressed is mind-numbing. His eyes are wide shut, until Rick says:

“Look at me, baby, don’t go in there, c’mon, baby”

Rick invades all of his senses, seeing and smelling and feeling nothing but him. Even the rough of Rick’s pants against Morty’s bare thighs becomes all too real, and he starts to wriggle, thinking desperately _I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum_. Then Rick grabs the back of his head with his free hand, pressing his forehead against Morty’s, locking two penetrating blue eyes on him, and says right into his mouth

“Cum for me, baby, c’mon, don’t try to avoid it, I know you want to, cum for me Morty baby”

That does it for him. Morty comes and the pleasure is so strong it obliterates all thinking process in him, like a destructive wave taking everything apart in seconds. Hot semen spurs into Rick’s fisted hand, splashing both bodies as Morty lets himself fall on Rick’s chest, still breathing heavily, the sweat returning to his chest and head.

It’s so beautiful Rick momentarily forgets he’s not done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, franz here.  
> i've been editing this thing for weeks, and the first part ended up being a bit... experimental? sorry if it's kinda unclear. do let me know what you understood, tho! c: i'd be very happy to see what you made of it. if it's totally non-sensical for you, also let me know! 
> 
> well, see u in the next chapter (hopefully it will be the last one, cuz i have another project in store for these two)

**Author's Note:**

> shit's gonna get dark(er), yay


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